


The St. Valentine's Day Massacre

by ellethom



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cold nuts, F/M, Frozen balls of wonder, I Don't Even Know, Not the international football, Professor Dorks in love, Trigger for cold weather, and football, gridiron, valentine's day fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9695453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellethom/pseuds/ellethom
Summary: A cold night, a life in reflection.  Jaime and Brienne come to some realizations.





	

“It’s cold as The--” 

“Don’t say it!” She warned from under the seven layers of blankets. 

“--Night King’s balls out here.” As if he’d just registered her threat. “Say what, Wench?”

She sighed then, allowing her hand free of it's warmth long enough to rub her eyes in frustration. “Jaime!” Unsure of which spoken vulgarity to attack first. He would never cease calling her Wench, no matter how many times she has chastised him/ “I should wash your mouth out with soap.”

He leaned his cap covered head onto her shoulder. “Only if you kiss it better, afterwards.” She could feel his face crease into a smile, and she could imagine that, under the wool scarf moulded around his beautiful features, was that smile that had caught her the first day they had met. 

That smile that had robbed her of all sense, since. 

“And scooch over, you are practically on top of me!” She tried and failed to move him further into the seat that was his, he had raised the armrest and was now threatening to completely slide into her skin.

“No way, I needs your body heat to survive, woman. Remember you promised!”

She had, Jaime Lannister had shown up in her cramped office with exaggerated sniffles claiming that the HOmecoming Game would lead to full on hypothermia with aggravated pneumonia sure to follow if she didn't agree to let him use her for body warmth through the blistering cold. “You’re the only person I know big enough to generate enough heat!” he’d grinned.

“I hear Clegane is single.” she had fired back. It was only bluff and bluster, though, she knew she would go with him.

And, of course, she had. 

“What’s the score?” he asked.

“Winterfell is down by 20, but the half is about to be over.” Brienne dipped further into the mass of blankets, wondering for the hundredth time why she agreed to attend this mandatory with the one person who had little to no interest in football.

“That’s a good thing, right? I mean for our team?”

“Really, Jaime. How you grew up in a world so sheltered that football flew under your radar.” Her words came in frozen blasts into the cold night air. The cheers and rumbles of the crowds around them and the too bright lighting of the football field made the frigid Northern night nearly ethereal.

“It’s not very Lannisterly to attend nor follow barbaric displays of the unwashed masses.” He replied in his best interpretation of Tywin Lannister. “We were too busy with high society to be affiliated with anything so...common.”

She smiled, having known the man for two years now, Brienne realised his facetiousness when she heard it. “So, what then? Polo? Tennis? Equestrian endeavors?”

His golden smile nearly blazed enough heat into her to have no further need of the heap of blankets. “I had a great horse.” Jaime said, turning into her a bit further, nestling into the pocket of warmth that their bodies were able to generate. “And, yes. We played those things. Also, as you well know, lots of fencing.”

Ah, yes, the thing that had led to their unholy friendship in the first place. “Old Lord Lannister must be seething in his Bruno Magli’s that his oldest son is a mere HIstory professor at a less than prestigious state school.”

“Whatever he does in those ugly shoes is of no consequence to my life, Wench.” He grinned again, and Brienne had the sudden and yet fundamental--no spiritual--certainty that the arrogant and beautiful man’s smile would be her undoing. “Besides,” he went on. “Who says anything about my position being paltry? I’ll have you know that, just yesterday, I was offered head of the department.”

She half emerged from her cocoon then, it had been a rumor that old Dr. Pycelle was considering leaving his position. Jaime had once told her of the old man’s obsession with the Lannister family and wondered if he had pushed Jaime’s name forward as his replacement. “You didn't tell me you were offered that!” she said, suddenly feeling oddly left out. Why, there was no real reason. 

Their friendship had only ever gotten as far as watching documentaries together while eating bad food. There were dreams; her secret crush on Renly from the Sociology department had lasted until he began teaching the Queer Studies class, and even then it wasn't until he had moved in with his former TA that Brienne had to finally admit to herself that she was definitely barking up the wrong tree. 

This, whatever her heart was imagining, was far worse than that misspent fascination with the kind, beautiful man who would never want her. Here, next to her, was another beautiful man whose kindness, albeit deeply buried, had wormed his way into her heart and left golden fantasies that would crumble into bleak loneliness.

Again.

“I’m telling you now.” It was Jaime’s turn to sigh. “Great Seven save me it is freezing out here.”

“If the next words out of your mouth contain balls, nuts or any variation of that theme, I am taking my blankets and going home. Then we can see if those maltreated testicles of yours can become the punchline of yet another torrent of how cold it really is here. For gods sake Jaime, it is Winterfell. “

Jaime tilted his head “Always leaving me with blue balls, Wench. You’re a little testy, tonight.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” she shook her head and failed at covering her own laughter. 

“Congratulations, by the way..” she smiled, honestly happy for him. Brienne was still just an adjunct professor, still praying for tenure. Jaime had been there longer, had suffered far longer under office politics and managed to survive it. White Harbor had not been his first choice, he had once told her that coming North was the only way he could escape any undue attentions or interference of his family name. Anyone with the last name of Lannister would be hard pressed to find any easy love here in the North. “A challenge,” he had said with that gleam in his eyes he got during finals week. “You know how I love a good challenge, Wench.”

He nodded. “I haven't decided anything yet, still trying to decide if this is something that is the right time in my life.” The crowds suddenly flew into a rage and the board on the field lit up. Jaime jumped at the sensory assault. His head popped up from the blankets like a groundhog attempting to scry the forecast for the next six weeks. “What? What was that?” 

Brienne couldn't see around the standing and cheering crowds. “It’s more than likely a score for our side.” She patted his arm like a kindly grandmother reassuring her frightened housecat. Jaime settled back into the cocoon and Brienne felt his warm fingers encircle her arm. “These damn games, next year, we are going to boycott the Homecoming.”

She smiled, They really were only mandated to attend the Homecoming game, a show of school solidarity. She knew that, next year, he would be here again, still pissing and moaning and freezing. “Sure, Jaime. Now that you are Department head, you are freed of such barbaric displays of commonality.”

He turned his fiery, verdant glare at her. “I said, we, Wench. You think I am going to let you come out here and freeze in this weather in the name of school spirit?” He sniffed indignantly. “I’ll write you a note.”

She laughed then, he always managed to make her smile. She had spent 24 years of her life without a reason to really laugh. Jaime had brought that out in her, had brought out so much.

And yet.

“I happen to like football.” It was true, growing up in a male dominated house, she had had no choice. Had even fought to be allowed to play in high school. Her brother had been her biggest cheerleader, his gentle giant nature had left him without a desire to play the game, but he and their father had shown up for every game. She’d played center for four years; and had earned the name of Beast. By the time Tarth had pounded the King’s Landing team to their first defeat of the season and had won the title, the name was less taunting and more affectionately fearsome.

“Of course, how could I forget?” His face pulled into a lecherous visage. “Wench, the image of you on that field of controlled violence is enough to keep me warm for many nights to come. “

“I think you should take the job, Jaime.” She said finally. Using his name reminded her of how far they had come, how she had only called him Dr. Lannister for months despite his insistence of being called by his given name. 

Almost as if he had wanted her to say it. 

It had been a late night in one of the bars that peppered the borders of the university that had changed it all. The Bear. Some giant red haired bouncer had decided that Brienne was the one woman he could ever desire. He had cornered her in the ladies bathroom, she was holding her own against the ginger idiot until she’d slipped on the myriad of fluids that covered the ill kempt bathroom. 

Jaime had come in after she had taken too long in the bathroom. Later, after he had baptized the red head in the dirtiest toilet she had ever seen, Jaime had told her that he came in thinking she had passed out. 

Brienne shook the thought out of her head, and came from her memories at Jaime’s voice. “What?” she asked. 

Jaime shook his head. “I was saying that if I take this position, I am here forever.” He sighed as if academia wasn't , at it's heart, all about finding a tenured position and then pouncing on some notoriety of position that fed and clothed you until death did you part. 

Literally.

Some great hulking beast in front of them with his face painted gray and white, began chanting the Winterfell fight song. The entire row they were in stood to it's feet and joined in. “Dear gods,” Jaime mumbled from beside her. “Forever, Wench.”

After the tune and wave had passed around them (Jaime had not stood, and Brienne, her Stormlands upbringing, had chosen to show her own solidarity and not emerge from the warm cocoon either) Brienne studied his face and cleared her throat. Brienne had a sudden image of watching his red Valerian drove off into the distance. She didn't want to think of a life without Jaime. But, his words held a note of weariness. He had spent ten years in Winterfell University. Had managed to change the hearts and minds of these long memoried Northerners. He sounded like he was ready to move one. To move away. “Is that such a bad thing, Jaime? I mean, isn't that what most of us in academia are hoping for?”

“It's Valentine’s Day.” he said suddenly.

Brienne shrugged. “You know how I feel about that damn--”

He took her hand in his, his fingers warm and insistent. HIs palm lit a fire that had been slowly smouldering since the first day she met him. Since the first day she realized he was everything that those old stories and countless numbers of ballads, songs, and poems had elicited. “Brienne.”

Not Wench. 

Brienne.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, and the only forever I can even think of is--” He turned then, a flash of something in his eyes that Brienne had seen many times but had never been able to decipher. “I’m 38 years old, Brienne. I have been living off of a professor’s salary for a while now. This,” He huffed a breath that exploded into a puff of cold smoke. “Of course I want this job.”

“Then what are you saying?” She angled, hoping and dreading what would come next. 

“It’s a settle down type of job. And, it's come right at the time where I feel my age. I’m not leaving White Harbor, but I can't stay here in the same way it been for ten years.”

A stirring of something across the stands had caused a wave of distaste through the nearby rows. “Highgarden scored.” She told him, knowing he had no clue what was going on. “Tully just caught a long pass and danced across the end zone.”

“I’m sure that means something in some language somewhere.” 

Brienne laughed again, “Jaime, what is wrong then? You seem...morose? No. melancholy. Definitely melancholy. You are acting a bit like an old crusty professor, with a heaping of shoegazer for good measure.”

“Please, both those stereotypes wish they looked this good.” The joke did not reach his eyes as it normally did, and Brienne hazarded a gloved hand to touch a scrap of skin on his face that was not covered. They usually didn't do touches; she avoided them and he seemed scared of them. But sometimes.

She felt like he needed a friend, if that was all she would get then that would be enough. 

“This job is making me feel like I need to...I don't know, take up golf, worry over mortgage rates, have my cholesterol checked--”

“You should have that checked regardless, Jaime. High cholesterol is a dangerous thing.”

“--or just settle down.”

The thought struck her, had he been seeing someone? Jaime spent most of his free time on her couch bemoaning her decorative choices and clearing her fridge. “Are you getting married?”

The howl of laughter from Jaime wasn't the answer she had expected. “That depends,,” he said when he finally stopped laughing. 

“I wish you knew the Common Tongue.” Brienne spit in frustration.

Jaime cleared his throat, cast an eye to the other revellers who were far more...revellry than the two curled around each other in the stands. “I’ve had a rough go of it, Brienne. My father disowned me as soon as I registered for my Master’s in Pre-Targaryen History instead of going to law school like he had planned.”

Brienne shook her head, He could rattle off every deed Garth Greenhands had done...maidens included. “This isn’t about your father.” she insisted. 

Jaime shook his head. “No, it's not. But I am starting to understand a little what he was trying to accomplish. 

“How so?” Brienne didn't even try to hide the frown in her voice. Highland scored again, and many of the Winterfell crowd seemed ready to reenact the Bread Riots of old. 

“Legacy.” Jaime said, and Brienne had to recall where the conversation had halted before the crowd’s obvious ire had stirred up. “I’m at an age where I am starting to consider it.”

“You’re not even dating.” Brienne huffed, hoping the answer was what she could bear.

“Aren’t I?” he asked with a devilish grin. 

“I’ve never seen you with anyone.” Brienne slid back into her seat and angled away from Jaime. He placed his hand back onto her arm as if worried she would run. 

“I knew you would be uncomfortable.” Jaime slid his arm around her back and pulled her closer. “Thing is, Brienne. I know how old you are, I know you haven't had the best of experience with men.”

None, she thought to herself and kept silent. The ones she had had were scathingly horrible. “I’ve come to terms with the idea that that life isn't for me, Jaime.” 

“What if you’re wrong?” he asked, his breath a jet stream against her ear. “What if you are destined for such things?”

“I’m not.” Brienne’s voice quivered with uncertainty at her own insistence. 

“I beg to differ, Dr. Taarth.” he whispered against her cheek.

“You always do, Dr. Lannister.”

“I’ll further my argument with this. No matter what I think of Winterfell, this promotion, the fact that I can now afford a house, a wife and 2.6 little drains on my savings. The only person I can imagine when I think of...legacy….” He blew a gentle rush along her neck. “Is--”

“Don’t say it.” She whispered into the night air. A prayer, a wish, a flattened out stupid hope from a stupid woman.

He pulled back and tucked his hand back into the wools. “I thought. I’m sorry. I didn't think, I you felt…”

Brienne crested some distant hope and pulled herself onto the shore. “Jaime.” she said. 

He shook his head. “I can keep it professional, Wench. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable with my creepy, old man crush.”

“Jaime,” she said again, her arms sliding around him under the warm humidity of the share blanket pile. 

He turned back to look at her then, a look of something she had long tried to decipher finally made sense. A fear that she did not realise he was capable of. Him, of the golden hair, perfect abs and looks that could have gotten him into a million school scandals. But he never, he had never. Even though some of his classes were filled with over amorous students--of all genders--but he never looked at any of them. Not the way he was looking at her now. 

How could I have been so stupid? She asked herself as a flood of memories assaulted her. Jaime had been in her life for so long, so ardently. She had never imagined there could be anything more, she had been wrong. 

He continued to stare at he, his eyes danced as he realized she was moving closer to him, to his lips. She kissed him, neither passionately, nor violently. The kiss was gentle, a brush of chapped lips and a small nudge of noses. A wisp of air between them as their breaths collided and mingled into something, solid. Her kiss was an answer to Jaime’s unasked question. The fact that he was afraid of her response twinged something inside her. She knew he felt as she had and she wondered if he had spent an equal amount of nights in rapt anticipation of...something. She was surprised at the warmth of his lips in the cold night air, and Jaime seemed just as baffled by her spontaneity. 

Jaime wriggled from his side of the blanket pile. He took her hand out of the blanket and for a moment, some addled part of her brain feared he was going to do something else. Something mostly desperate and entirely anticipated. Instead, he turned her hand palm up and grinned. He placed the warm foil wrapped pyramids into her hand. The sweets were her secret favorite, she kept a stash of the Hershey’s in her desk. Brienne was never one to stress eat, but midterms and lazy students always put her on edge. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Jaime smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Sorry if they are a bit...melty. They were in my pocket.”

She held onto the small gift, not knowing how this had become the sweetest Valentine’s Day she could recall. The half-time buzzer set and the crowd began to move around. 

“We don't have to stay for the whole game, do we?” He asked. 

Brienne looked around at the other spectators; students and some of them with their families. Some were passing around snacks or opening thermoses of warm liquids. Some even passed around bottle which left no imagination as to what was inside. “No,” she said out loud before her brain had actually agreed. “Let’s go find some waffles.”

Jaime stood quickly and began to roll up their makeshift blanket fort. “Oh thank the gods! I think my nuts have retreated back into my abdominal cavity.”

Brienne let that one go, “Might compromise that whole legacy thing, Jaime” she asked with a small smile. 

“You are saving it in more ways than one, Wench.” He smiled back at her as they made their way out of the stands, dodging half drunk fans. “Maybe we can go and add some more of those Kisses?” 

Somehow, Brienne knew it wasn't the candy he was hoping for. 

“What was the score at half anyway?” He asked as they slid into his car. 

“Huh?” She realized she had not even looked at the score as they filed out of the stadium. Jaime grinned at her as he pulled out of the parking lot. 

“Guess that game was fairly unforgettable.” he smirked. 

“It was 6 to 35 last I recall. Highgarden was murdering us.”

“A Massacre.” 

<3<3<3<3

Jaime had not been wrong. The final score ended at 56-10 with University of HIghgarden trouncing Winterfell on its own turf. They had dubbed it The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre; it was the first time that Winterfell had ever lost it's homecoming game. Students stayed in the next day, those that did emerge from their bunks in search of cafeteria food wore black and piles of Valentine’s Day roses were burned in effigy. 

He chuffed at the name the anguished football fans had deemed it. “It's an affront to the real incident,” he said the next morning. “Losing a football match is hardly comparable to what happened in the parking garage.”

“Game, Jaime. It's a football game. Football match is something entirely different.”

“Is it?” he quirked an eyebrow from under his glasses. “What’s the difference?”

“It would take far too long to explain, Jaime.”

He grabbed her around her middle and kissed her then. “We have forever, Brienne.”

<3<3<3

The next year’s Homecoming game was the long heralded rematch of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. This time, it was a week before the actual holiday. Brienne had wondered if that was on purpose; it had taken weeks before the stench of burnt roses had cleared the quad. 

Jaime had offered a note last year, to get them both out of the mandated game. This year, no note was necessary.

As the final scrimmage rallied across the Winterfell end zone, announcing the last minute win of the home team, Jaime and Brienne welcomed into the world their own legacy.

**Author's Note:**

> # I am more than aware that typical homecoming games occur in the fall, but i figured if my ASOIAF fic can have Football, Hershey's kisses and Valentine's Day, well then all bets were off.


End file.
